


Crash Into Me

by winchestersingerautorepair



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst and Feels, Betrayal, Bisexual Dean Winchester, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Coda, Episode: s15e07 Last Call, Flashbacks, Friends to Lovers, Heartbreak, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Minor Character Death, One Shot, Pining, Sexual Tension, Slash, Tragic Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-08
Updated: 2019-12-08
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:48:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21722500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/winchestersingerautorepair/pseuds/winchestersingerautorepair
Summary: It was a dance, of sorts.It had always been, for Dean, and Lee.They knew how to move with one another. They could match their rhythms down to each quivering heartbeat; they could share each breath, each moment, and walk together on the edge of that knife until their push-and-pull, give-and-take broke like a wave on the shoreline and swept them under. And still, they moved as one. With the tide, and against it.A Coda for S15e07: Last Call.
Relationships: Leo Webb/Dean Winchester
Comments: 21
Kudos: 43





	Crash Into Me

**Author's Note:**

> This was written on a whim: I was imagining what might have been going through Dean's mind in his final scene with Lee, and decided to put it on paper. I hope you enjoy.  
> 
> 
> _Fic title borrowed from "Crash Into Me" by The Dave Matthews Band. I recommend a listen._

It was a dance, of sorts.

It had always been, for Dean, and Lee.

They knew how to move with one another. They could match their rhythms down to each quivering heartbeat; they could share each breath, each moment, and walk together on the edge of that knife until their push-and-pull, give-and-take broke like a wave on the shoreline and swept them under. And still, they moved as one. With the tide, and against it. 

Time cannot change that which exists beyond it, and time had not touched this dance-- and so Dean moved through the steps, which were still as fresh in his mind as the memories set their metre. There was no one place in time that Dean could be, and so he was living in ten different moments. They flowed together with painful ease, because the time that had passed between them could not alter the fundamental truths that linked them. Every step Dean took across the bar was a step taken all those years ago: a step down a gravel road, a step away from his dad’s car, and a step towards a motel room door. And Lee was everywhere. 

He was standing in a forest clearing, aiming Dean’s sawed-off shotgun at the plywood target John had nailed to a tree. They weren’t old enough to drink yet but they were doing so anyways, and their aim was suffering for it -- when Lee fired the shotgun a moment later, his bullet barely dinged the outside corner of the board.  _ Hand it over,  _ Dean was saying.  _ Let the proffessional show you how it’s done.  _ Lee was shaking his head and laughing. It was springtime, and they had nothing to worry about -- as long as they hid the empty bottles and pretended to be sober.

Now, Lee’s neck was burnt by desert sun, and his eyes shone bright against skin dusted with red dirt. There was a roguish grin flashing across a much younger face, and Dean was in the passenger’s seat of a pickup truck, flying down a highway running south towards San Bernardino. The sun was getting low over the mountains, and they had wasted a whole day tossing rocks into the canyons and singing along with songs written before they were born. Dean was free from his troubles, free from the reins his father kept on his ambitions; and for the first time since the fire his dreams unfurled, guileless and whole, unencumbered by mission or fate. The lights in the valley below were so many stars, their potential as untapped and endless as their heavenly counterparts. Lee was driving too fast, the music was too loud, and the night was still young.

Miles away now, in Nebraska, he was sitting on the barstool next to Dean, bruised knuckles and split lip unremarked upon as they traded stories and drank cheap whiskey. That werewolf they’d killed just hours ago was gone from their minds. Instead, they played a game which neither knew the rules to -- a game of inches, one they’d been playing since they had met. There was a moment of stillness, and another smile that Dean didn’t quite understand. An intention lay there, one that would remain a mystery only as long as they kept their dance from crossing its horizon; but another drink and maybe, just maybe, that last frontier might be within their reach.

A thousand flashes of Lee, like slides of film, as his eyes locked with Dean’s-- stolen glances over piles of papers and books, fleeting moments in the backseat as John switched out the cassette, meaningful looks they advanced towards a shifters’ nest, or through a dark graveyard, or into a werewolf’s den. Dean remembered the electricity of their touch, and how his understandings of alliances and friendship, affection and desire, were forever changed by the unprecedented place Lee came to hold in his world.

Then it was nighttime and John was gone; and Lee was below him, and there was nothing else in the world but that long, dark hair and the smell of sex. The motel room sheets covered their bodies, but beneath those sheets they were bare, flush against one another and moving with the same hallowed rhythm they found while hunting together, while laughing together. It was as real, as whole, as Dean had ever felt. They were both close now, and closer to touching one another’s souls than Dean would ever be with any other lover. And then, both became still. Silver stripes of moonlight were streaming through the blinds and over their bed, soft and smooth as the skin beneath his fingertips, and Dean could hardly believe that this moment would ever pass, that they wouldn’t simply be here forever.

But time had passed and now Lee was shaking, tear tracks streaking the ash on his cheeks. Dean could not look at him. He did not want to see Lee like this; he did not want to see his own torment reflected in those eyes. Because the hunt had gone wrong, and there was the blood of a dozen innocent people staining their clothes, and the Arizona sun was setting over an ugly cabin where something in the both of them had died. The dance had halted, and they knew it was over and they were both going to run: Dean, back to his father’s war and to the role of dutiful soldier, where things deeper than flesh could never touch him, and Lee, away from this place and out of Dean’s life for the better part of two decades.

And now his face is older, and his back is pressed against the wall. Dean is close to him, looking down into bright, blue eyes-- the same eyes that lived in his fondest memories, the same eyes he thought he might once have loved. But Lee’s flesh has been pierced, his body lanced by the makeshift spear still in Dean’s hands; and none of that mattered anymore. Against this wall was a monster, and it couldn’t be forgiven because it had once been a man. Here, in these familiar eyes, evil had taken root and then grown unchecked, and whatever fractured pieces of his friend remained were not enough to redeem the person he’d become. This was a broken shell, a twisted phantom of the Lee of Dean’s past; the cruel echo of a man who had long since gone. But why, then, did the motions still feel the same?

Something had snapped along the way, but their dance remained unchanged. Perfectly synced, Dean and Lee went through its steps without once faltering, moving with deftness and grace untarnished by the years of life they’d lived apart. And this dance would be their last, for each step they took was a step towards an ending neither of them had wanted or planned; but they did not stop, they could not stop, and Dean had no option but to be lost in that familiar rhythm until he and Lee had finished. Then the fight was won and for one last time, Dean and Lee found themselves at the summit -- this was their point of no return, the secret, sacred place that long ago, in the dead of night and away from disapproving eyes, with tender touches and whispered devotions, they had chased one another in the hopes of reaching. 

By now, their paths had long diverged. They were no longer friends or lovers, and that place was no longer sex, or joy, or freedom. 

It was parting. 

But nothing could erase the gravity of their connection, lost or found; and even though Lee was dying, and Dean had dealt the fatal blow, their dance ended the same way it always had:

With stillness,

And closeness,

And a deeper understanding of one another.

**Author's Note:**

> A special thanks to [ quiettewandering, ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/quiettewandering/pseuds/quiettewandering) whose 1k-a-day challenge inspired me to actually write this stuff for a change!


End file.
